If I Go Crazy, Will You Still Call Me Superman?
by rkolove
Summary: Being on the road leads to many a mistake. And the circus is not the place for secrets, especially when it comes down to life or death. AU/AH, Delena. RATED M FOR A REASON!
1. Screams & Laughs

So I'm venturing into AU/AH - in particular the world of the travelling circus. We have Damon, we have Elena, we have a whole array of characters performing various circus tricks and shenanigans.

Thanks to my lovely beta, gabby227 for agreeing to read the first chapter and hopefully future chapters to come!

**WARNINGS:** Language, sexual content

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing but my ideas

Hope you enjoy x

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**Chapter 1 – Screams & Laughs**

I swipe a hand across the mirror, wiping away the dust, grim and flecks of hair spray and wax. The wax is mine I hasten to add, the hairspray is... well, who knows. I glare at myself, scowling, frowning, contorting my face, trying to work out what looks best. Furrowing my eyebrows, scrunching up my nose, I fumble for the beer bottle, my fingers fluttering over the neck before–

"Fuck!"

I drop my gaze and watch beer slowly pool around my feet. I glance around for a cloth, settling instead for a dirty t-shirt. One hand on the sink to keep my balance, I lean down and unsteadily mop up the wasted drink. The t-shirt slops lazily from side to side as the beer slowly soaks through it. Satisfied with my handiwork, I toss it aside, a squelchy thud confirming it's landing in the shower cubicle. I make a mental note to retrieve it before I attempt a shower. The last thing I need is an injury – a slipped disc from a rogue shirt isn't exactly bad-ass. Although forget the injury, (there's been too many of those recently anyway) I could just do without the added headache of a broken shower.

Looking back into the mirror, I let my eyes rove. I take in the dark bags under my eyes, the cut on my lip, the faint bruise on my forehead. Sweeping back the mop of black hair and turning to the left, I admire the fading scar running along my hairline, past my ear, towards my throat. My fingers run over the purple mark on my neck, the only bruise inflicted by another for pleasure and for pleasure's sake alone. I smirk; there's plenty more where that came from.

A rap at the door snaps me out of my reverie.

"Ten minutes, man. Hurry up."

"Yeah, yeah. Coming."

Picking up the empty beer bottle, I turn away from the mirror and shut out the light. In the main room of the trailer I chuck the bottle into the trashcan, mentally high-fiveing myself when it crashes and breaks. I grab my jacket, checking the pockets for cigarettes and a lighter. Kicking the trailer door open, I come face to face with Ric.

He frowns, his nose wrinkling. "Shit Damon, how much have you drunk already?"

"None of your goddamn business." I tug the jacket around me, zipping it up to the chest and then pulling out the cigarette pack.

Ric rolls his eyes and stalks away. I pause to light up and then follow him towards the tent, the cheer of the crowd and the steady beat of the drums. Around us, the sky is lit up by the fairground lights, pinks, blues, greens and yellows, making the faces of the thrill-seekers look beautifully haunting. Their screams and laughs echo around me as I take a long drag before continuing on my way.

Winding through the queues for cotton candy, funnel cake and the ferris wheel, I spot a flash of brown hair and a chill runs down my spine. I look again, narrowing my eyes, but I lose sight of whoever it is. Could it be... What are the chances?

I shake my head in despair. I'm losing the fucking plot. Maybe that last beer was a mistake. Although if I go down that road, maybe all the beers I've ever knocked back were all their own individual mistakes. Some bigger than others. Some that seemed to be irrelevant at the time, but came back to bite me in the ass days, weeks, months, even years later. Top that off with imagining the unimaginable? Jesus. Over half the crowd are flaunting brown locks. It couldn't possibly be her. No fucking way.

I try to draw myself back to the here and now. The roar of the crowd is louder, the drum beat incessant, reverberating in my chest. My palms start to sweat, and I feel the nausea wash over me. I clench my fists, fighting back as I always do. The pre-show ritual that has only become worse over the last six months.

I never had a problem before. But then again, there were no problems at all. We were having the time of our lives. I used to _enjoy_ this shit. Sure, my heart would be thumping so hard that I thought it was about to explode, but that was just the adrenaline. The thrill of the ride. The power that surged through me when I started the engine, fastened my helmet and drove steadily into the steel cage. Christ, nothing could ever top that. Even when it was all over, the relief was under-whelming; I wanted more. I wanted to do more.

The only person who wanted more than me, was Stefan. He had plans. He knew where he wanted to take us. Away from here for starters. _Fuck this_, he used to say, _we should have our own damn show_. None of this 10 minute slot bullshit. _We'll be the stars_, he said. I can remember his eyes so clearly, bright and excited, his hands twisting in the air as he demonstrated his plans for new tricks. He had it all sorted.

I take a final drag of my cigarette before taking the helmet that Ric thrusts at me and pull it over my head. Mason is ready to go, bouncing his bike, flexing the accelerator, forcing loud roars from the exhaust. In this business, cocky is dangerous. But he's just about on the right side of being a danger to himself and us. He exudes confidence, and I feel a stab of guilt as I remember how Stefan would do the same.

Mason catches my eye and I quickly pull down the visor of my helmet, shielding my eyes and thoughts from him and the rest of the world. But he doesn't flinch, instead he turns away toward the ring entrance and revs the engine once again.

Through the well-padded helmet, the crowd is muffled. But nothing can hide me from the flash of cameras, the heat of the spotlight and the looming cage ahead. Up the ramp, into the abyss, swinging the bike left as I enter to line up in front of Mason. Ric enters last, and as they pull the cage door shut, he catches my eye.

His look says it all.

_It was a one-off. A fuck up. It won't happen again. Not tonight. Not ever._

I rev my engine in response.

As we slowly shift back and forwards, the music building, I chance a look out to the crowd. The faces blur together as usual, a mass of gawping mouths, hands over eyes. They swirl together as we surge forward, climbing the wall of the cage and then dropping back down within barely a second. Up and down, again and again. The smell of petrol, the sound of the engines is too much, but I can't stop it. I couldn't stop it then, I can't stop it now. We will go on and on like this until it happens again, that I'm sure of.

No matter how many promises Ric makes. No matter how many times he tells me it wasn't my fault, I know that it was.

I can see her. Staring at me. I blink. The crowd blurs for a second and then her face, clear as fucking day, reappears.

Disappears.

Reappears.

I want to look away, I want to close my eyes, I want to forget about her, him and everything else in between. But I carry on, doing this, turning round and round in a cage for all and sundry to gaze on in morbid fascination. I do it for him. I do it for her. My brother. Her husband. Katherine.

* * *

I lay on the bed, the sheets twisted around my waist, a beer in hand, another on the side table ready to go.

Was it really her? Is she back after all this time? And if it was her and if she really is back, then why?

The second we were done, I dumped the bike and strode back out to the entrance to the ring. But the lights were already low, the crowd hushed as Klaus, ring-master extraordinaire, announced Tyler, who promptly pushed past me into the spotlight, flexing his muscles to oohs and aahs. I stood there for a moment, trying to work out where she would have been to be in my eye line for the best part of the show.

But she was long gone. Again.

I get it. I really do. Who wants to be the tagalong when your significant other is no more? She had nothing in common with us, no interest in this life beyond what he could give her. Christ, that makes her sound so selfish. And maybe she was, in her own way, but he saw past that. She truly adored him. She was always there, before, during, after – waiting patiently whilst he got geared up, offering him a chaste kiss before he slipped on his helmet and then biting her nails for seven solid minutes before he returned. I would pull off my own helmet to be met by their embrace, his hand in her hair, hers clutching at his jacket, her knuckles turning white.

God, how I long–

There's a rap at the door, before it slowly rocks open. Blonde hair cascades down, blue eyes meeting mine.

"Hey, want some company?"

I nod and shift over in the bed. Rebekah closes the door, kicks off her boots and tugs down her shorts. I drain the rest of my beer, leaning over to place it out of harm's way. She catches my hand as I do, plucking the bottle from it and placing my palm over her breast instead. She crawls over me as I circle her nipple with my thumb, her hands pushing the sheets away.

All thoughts of brunettes fade away as she presses open-mouthed kisses against my hip bone and I wrap my fist in her hair.

* * *

_Katherine blows hot air over my cheek as she pulls away. I reach out to brush the hair out of her eyes, but she dances out of reach. Her mouth curls into a small smile as she turns away, the curtain of dark hair fanning out in the breeze. I try to follow, but I'm stuck. I try to wriggle free, grimacing from the weight holding me in place._

_She laughs, her face swirling round and round. Lights flash. My ears pound. The roar of the crowd getting stronger and stronger._

_My legs are chained to the bike. My hands too. I try to flex my fingers, but they're stuck, gripping the accelerator as we speed round and round, up and down, swinging back and forth._

_It's too fast. But I can't stop. I hit the brakes, but nothing happens. I try to twist my head to the left, to look across to Ric and Stefan, to try and signal that something has gone horribly wrong._

_She screams. I scream. Stefan screams._

I gasp for breath, scrambling to sit up. A trickle of cold sweat eases its way down between my shoulder blades, as I rub my eyes and try to shake off yet another nightmare. The beginning different once again, but the ending... The ending never changes. Everything slowly merges into screams. No alternative endings here, no director's cut. No, I have front row seats every time to the mess I created.

She's always there. Haunting me. Reminding me of what I did.

And now she's back. But what for? Closure? Revenge? Whatever it is, it's not going to end well for me at any rate. I'm due my comeuppance, I'm fully prepared. But I didn't think she was the type to seek retribution. Especially when she is just at fault as I am. We all played our parts. Me, her, Stefan.

Rebekah's hand slides over my shoulder.

"Bad dream?" she murmurs.

"Always."

She tugs me back down, her finger tips carving patterns over my chest in an attempt to soothe me to sleep. But minutes later, when her hand lays flat, her breathing heavy in slumber, I'm still awake.

Still thinking.

Still screaming.


	2. Priorities

You'll have to forgive me - I'm currently writing this as I go, although I'm hoping to get at least two chapters ahead of myself soon. Thank you for all the follows, favourites for the last chapter - really made my heart swell to know you guys are interested in where this is going.

I'm not usually one to ask for reviews, _but_ I really am trying to find my way with this story and fandom so a little encouragement from anyone who takes the time to read would be much appreciated!

Mega thanks to my wonderful beta Gabby227 who is an absolute star. I re-wrote this chapter numerous times trying to get it just right and she put all my worries at ease with her response.

Hope this gives you some much needed background to Damon and others :-)

Enjoy x

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**Chapter 2 –** **Priorities**

I warily eye up the carton of milk, taking in the crust that's formed along the opening. I lean closer to take a sniff and instantly recoil, fighting the urge to spew.

Casting an eye back towards the bed, I watch Rebekah stretch, the sheets sliding away. She squints at the clock and then curses, reaching for her shirt.

"We're late," she mumbles as she pushes past me towards the bathroom. I listen to the pipe from the water tank rattle and spurt, followed by her usual hiss and "shit" as she flings cold water on her face.

I drop the milk carton the bin, making a mental note to take out the trash before we roll out. Pushing the cereal box back into the cupboard, I pull out a box of cookies instead and, ignoring the use-by date, begin to crunch my way through breakfast.

Rebekah appears in the doorway, the end of my toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. I roll up my nose in disgust and she flips me a finger in return. She turns, spits, wipes her mouth and then brushes past me, this time her hand trailing over my bare stomach. I catch her wrist and pull her back to me. She squeals as I press my mouth against hers, but she soon relents so I can push her against the trailer wall, my hands sliding under her shirt. I feel her nails drag slowly down my back, and I'm seconds away from hooking her legs around my waist when the door opens.

"Hey Damon, you gonna give us a hand or–" Mason stops, his grin cracking his face in two as Rebekah untangles herself from my arms and steps backwards into the bathroom.

I push past Mason to grab my own shirt, trying my best to ignore his sniggers as Rebekah reels off a list of threats from behind the bathroom door.

"Girl's got spirit," he smirks as I follow him outside. "How'd you pull that one off?"

I don't answer. Mostly because I don't want to give him the satisfaction. But partly because even I can't answer that question. I honestly don't know what she sees in me. She was here before I rocked up with Stefan and Ric. A circus brat through and through, crafting her art from a young age. Gymnast-cum-contortionist. I remember seeing her when we first arrived: on a yoga mat outside her trailer, refining the art of bending backwards from the waist up, her legs stretched out straight behind, balancing on two hands and then one. We graciously applauded, only to receive a scathing look in return.

Four years and not a word. And then one night, after the accident, after Katherine had left, I was sitting on the trailer steps, four beers deep, when she sat on the grass next to me. Later that night she bit my neck as I fucked her against the closed trailer door, too desperate to make it to the bed first time.

We round the corner to see Ric rolling the final bike up into the truck.

"Glad you could make it Damon. I went to a lot of effort to buy you that alarm clock for Christmas, the least you could do is actually take it out the box once in a while." He makes a show of wiping the sweat from his face.

"I don't think it's the waking up that's the problem. It's managing to extract yourself from Rebekah's thighs of steel that's the issue, right Damon?"

"I'm laughing on the inside," I mutter, knocking my shoulder firmly into Mason as I push past to hold the truck door whilst Ric slides the bolt home.

"Seen the new arrivals yet?" Ric takes the cigarette I hand him, his first and only one of the day.

"Who?"

He nods towards the cluster of motorhomes. In between the usual suspects (made up of dusty vehicles and worn paint of those who've been on the road longer than they care to remember), I spy the bright red trailer, the new-looking 4x4. It's always easy to spot fresh blood. You can smell the dreams, the desire, the whimsy a mile off. Rarely can you smell the talent. Talent never has fresh paint or wheels. Talent shows up in a truck whose brakes needed replacing a year ago, with chipped nails and in need of a shower.

"Where are they?"

"With Klaus."

Of course, the only guy with a half-decent paint job. Aside from Ric and Stefan, Klaus is probably the only other guy I actually have respect for. Not only because he's the one handing over my wage at the end of each week, but because he occasionally cracks open his personal supply of bourbon for us to share. Any man who deems me worthy of sharing his drink always gets my respect in return.

And then there's his wife, Caroline.

I remember when we were sat in his trailer, having just shook hands on a deal that Stefan had brokered. I had gotten the sense that Klaus was a hard man to please, with money his only priority in life. Halfway through his welcome-to-the-company speech, there was a knock at the door. He apologised, turning away from us to open the door. At first, I thought that we were about to witness our first dressing-down, a taster of what would come if we dared to fuck around under his command. But his face noticeably softened and he reached out to whoever it was. He carefully eased Caroline into view and I although I did my best not to stare, I couldn't help it. She was beyond beautiful, her blonde hair swept back, her face completely bare of make up, her shirt slightly dirtied, her jeans covered in grass and oil stains. Her left arm was no more – amputated from the elbow after her accident, we later learned – and she walked with a limp, her left leg intact but only just. She'd fallen from the trapeze during a rehearsal, and the safety net, having not been secured properly, gave way a few seconds after she landed on it. Her left arm had broken the fall, but was smashed beyond repair.

All three of us witnessed Klaus' weakness and at the same time, his real priority. Safety was the word on everyone's lips. Everything double, triple-checked. If you tied the knot, someone else would check it and another person after that. Rehearsals weren't worth skipping, not if you planned on keeping your job. Caroline was a reminder of the world we lived in, the dangers that we faced every night and what would happen when you put a foot wrong.

When Stefan was crushed by his own bike, Klaus was the first one on the scene, pulling open the cage door so Ric and I could get the bikes out of the way. Caroline had already dialled 911, her face crumpling when we dragged Stefan's body out. They, along with Ric, sat with me at the hospital whilst we waited for the worst. I remember standing when the doctor entered the room and then my knees gave way and I was on the floor, out cold. When I came round, I could feel Caroline's cool hand on my face and Klaus' hand around my shoulders as they hauled me upright.

"Aerial act apparently."

"Huh?"

Ric barely acknowledges my vacant expression. It's something he's become accustomed to recently.

"The newbies. In Klaus' trailer. The one you've been starting at for the last five minutes."

"Oh, right."

"I didn't think I'd see the day that he'd let anyone take to the air again."

"Sure."

"After what happened."

"On that premise, it's a fucking miracle he let's us carry on then isn't it?" I flick the cigarette butt away, already cursing myself for such a flippant remark. But Ric, gentleman that he is, lets it slide.

"Either way," he continues, "they've been in there for the best part of an hour. No-one's talked terms longer than that since..." he trails off.

"Stefan." I pause. "Did you see what they looked like?"

"What? Oh, no. I was wheeling the bikes out of the tent and overhead Caroline chatting to one of the techs."

"Strange to try and broker terms when we're heading out."

"Apparently they were here yesterday as well. Just no-one noticed because it was closing night."

I remember the dark flash of hair. I thought I had imagined it. Maybe I hadn't, maybe it was her in the crowd, familiarising herself all over again. Who's she hooked up with this time? No way has she formed her own act. And aerial acrobats? The girl who couldn't even climb a step ladder without getting dizzy?

Ric snaps his fingers. "Hey man, they're coming out."

I squint, the sun in my eyes. I can just about make out the trailer door opening, a tall guy emerging, Klaus behind him. The tall guy turns to shake hands with Klaus, who grins at someone in the shadow of the doorway, his head thrown back as laughter rips through the air.

"Holy fuck," Ric murmurs.

I shield my eyes further from the sun. And then I see her – the long dark hair gives it away instantly.

"Is it..."

"It looks like..."

I can't take my eyes off her. In the back of my mind, I wonder if my nightmares are slowly merging into my daydreams. My chest tightens as I watch her walk down the steps, the tall guy sliding an arm around her shoulders as Klaus takes her hand.

"She's a stunner right?"

I snap round to meet Mason's cocky-assed grin.

He blinks startled. "Elena."

"Who?" Ric's voice is strangled.

"Elena. The girl. The one you're both drooling over. I don't blame you. She is fucking hot, dude."

"Elena?" I squeak.

Mason frowns. "Who did you think it was?"

* * *

Katherine and Stefan pre-dated our act. Stefan was 16 when he fell in love with her. I'm hazy on the details, but I imagine that it was a typical high-school love affair. She probably had a photo of him in her locker, no doubt festooned in love-hearts, and plenty of time was most likely spent making out in the backseat of our shared car. I can still remember the smell of cheap perfume, the kind that they give out free with trashy magazines.

There was never any question that Katherine wouldn't join us on the road. Their fourth date was to one of our demos. Katherine was the best groupie Stefan could ask for – that any of us could ask for really. She gamely followed us wherever we went and Stefan couldn't believe his luck. That was probably our first mistake.

Between the four of us, we had three trailers – all of us keen to keep our personal space. Prior to signing with Klaus, we took one-off jobs across the country, sometimes travelling for days on end for just two seven-minute slots. Katherine liked to switch who she rode with, the idea being to give each of us some company aside from the radio. Second mistake.

To say that I didn't mean for it to happen would be a lie. I knew exactly what I was doing. That's not to say that I didn't feel guilty. Christ, I felt ashamed, but at the same time, I couldn't stop. Neither of us could.

It was a late-night drive, slowly creeping into the early morning. Katherine had decided to hitch a ride with me, rather than Stefan that night. She shrugged her shoulders when I asked why, so I figured they'd had an argument and she wanted some time to cool off. Having been on the road for two weeks solid and desperate to get home, we had all agreed to drive straight through the night. I was exhausted, my eyes slowly sagging as the miles crept past. I didn't realise that I had fallen asleep until Katherine's hands were on mine, her voice loud in my ear.

She offered to drive, but I wouldn't let her. Mistake number three.

So we pulled over and bedded down in the trailer. I tried to phone Stefan to let him know, but his phone was dead. At first she declined the offer of my bed, stating that she was fine with the make-shift couch and a blanket. I refused point blank, reaching out to push her gently onto the bed. She'd giggled, told me that I was being stupid, that she'd be fine. She danced out of my grip for a second before I grabbed her again, pulling her back towards me.

Her mouth met mine a second later. And then it was all a blur.

Rational thought only returned when 10 minutes later I collapsed on top of her and realised how much I'd fucked this up. She was silent as I rolled off her and pulled up my pants. It should have ended there. I should have owned up when I saw Stefan the next day. Instead, I took a vow of silence. And so did Katherine.

It happened again a month later. And then a week after that. Soon we were fucking every chance we had.

When we signed with Klaus, I made a decision that enough was enough. It was nigh on impossible to continue anyway – we were all living in such close quarters, trailers parked metres apart. And instead of driving for days on end from show to show, we were stuck in the same run-down towns for days and then only driving four hours at a time to the next.

I made myself believe I was just a one-off fling, her way of testing the waters before committing entirely to him. For three years, I did my best to forget it ever happened. But she was forever close and I was forever watching. The moments pre and post-show when they were all over each other. I stood there, wishing it was me she was wrapping herself around, that it was my hands sliding down to grab her ass, making her wriggle and squeal. The night Stefan drunkenly proposed and she drunkenly said yes. I'd offered her a congratulatory hug, clinging on for longer than necessary, breathing in her scent that I craved for every night.

And then I stood by Stefan's side, watching her make her way up the aisle, gripping Ric's arm with one hand, a bouquet of wilted daisies in the other. My name scrawled on the marriage certificate under witness number one. At the reception, we stole glances at each other across the room, until Stefan grabbed my hand and placed it in hers, forcing us to dance. She was rigid in my arms, and the instant the song faded, she backed away not meeting my eyes.

That should have been it. I should have moved on. But I still lay awake at night, my mind working over every second we spent together. It wasn't the sneaking around that I missed. It was the moments before. All the time that we had shared together on the road – the battle over the radio station, the sharing of candy between fuel stops, looking over to see her curled up asleep or to see her tracing patterns through the steamed up windows during rain storms or when the mercury rose, her hand out of the window, the bangles on her wrist jangling in the wind.

And then one night I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of my trailer door creaking open and Katherine sliding into my bed.

Once again, all sanity left my being, never to return again.

Then two weeks later Stefan died.

Katherine left.

And I was left with nothing but guilt.


	3. Unwritten Rules

As always, thanks for the follows, favourites etc - each one has made me grin insanely. I promise that next chapter there will be some much needed Delena action. Promise.

In the meantime, thanks again to super beta Gabby227 who listens to my waffling emails and gives me plenty of ideas for upcoming twists and turns.

And again, please tell me what you think - buttons or words or both!

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nada.

Enjoy! x

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**Chapter 3 – Unwritten Rules**

There are times when I wish I had a regular job. Maybe then I would have a decent car, with air-conditioning that actually worked. The air is thick with the threat of rain and the accompanying humidity means even with all four windows down, there's barely a breeze. My shirt sticks to my back and I can feel yet another drop of sweat roll steadily from my hairline down my spine.

I reach over to the passenger seat for the bottle of water, which is already warm to the touch. I unscrew the cap and take a long drink; it's as un-refreshing as warm beer. Although I think I know what I'd prefer right now.

Mason continued to bug me and Ric about who we thought Elena could be. Katherine was long gone by the time we started to consider a replacement. It was a quicker process than I would have liked. Stefan was barely gone before Ric started scouting out dirt tracks for potentials. I left him to it, putting complete faith in his judgement. He knew that in my eyes, no-one could ever replace Stefan, that it would be impossible to find someone with the same enthusiasm and hunger for what we wanted to achieve. Without Stefan, our drive was gone. Even now, I can barely see beyond next week, let alone remember what the five-year plan was.

Ric found Mason a month after the accident. A cocky son of a bitch, whose bike and fuel bought and paid for by daddy, and who had more of an eye for the ladies rather than the job in hand. But he had some skill. I watched from the sidelines as Ric talked him through the act, let him whizz around the ring a few times before guiding him up the ramp and into the cage which was still marred with Stefan's blood.

I wouldn't say that Mason has grown on me. But he is less of an irritation than before, although that doesn't say much considering his penchant for pissing me off at every given opportunity. This morning being a prime example. I put it down to Rebekah knocking him back a few months ago, something which he's never quite lived down, much to my amusement.

Discarding the bottle of water to the passenger foot-well, I reach for the radio instead. Static fills my ears until I strike gold with the first non-country'n'western station in days. It's the little things in life.

I glance in my wing-mirror and see the steady stream of cars, trailers and camper vans stretch out behind me. The road ahead is much of the same. The faded pink of Rebekah's ride is just within view, whilst the dull beige of Ric's is a few car lengths behind me. And then there's the red of Elena's glinting a little further back.

Ric and I stood still for a good five minutes watching Elena and her partner, who Mason helpfully informed us was called Elijah. A double-act according to him, although it certainly looked more than that to me. The distance between us and them made it hard to see, but there was something unsettling about the way his arm was slung around her shoulders. Klaus walked them to their trailer and then left them to it. Elena brushed Elijah's arm away and they stood for a moment, her arms folded defiantly in front of her whilst his tried to reach out to her but gave up half-way through the motion.

They disappeared inside the trailer and Ric and I moved away to finish packing up. But the brief interaction we witnessed continued to play on my mind. To say that circus-life brings people together is an understatement; it's downright incestuous. Not a week passes without a hookup between the most likely and unlikely individuals. Some last, some don't. Rebekah and I have made it longer than most, although I truly believe it's because we leave each other to our own devices. We fuck, we sleep, we joke around in the morning and then barely pass two words to each other during the day. If only everyone else played by the same rules.

Rarely do couples fuck and perform together. It's just the unwritten rule. It leads to dangerous ground, where trust can easily be broken and that's not what you want when you're relying on the other person to keep you as safe as you keep them. Trust is a fragile thing and once gone it takes time to repair; time is not something we have. Mess up with your fuck-buddy is one thing, but to risk your life on a stupid argument? Forget it.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and with half an eye on the road, I fish it out and glance at the screen.

_Pit stop?_

I squint at the small gas station up ahead, my thoughts turning to the possibility of cold water. Flashing my rears in response to Ric, I indicate right and pull off on the dusty road, coughing as the sand rises up from the wheels and floods the inside of my car.

Ric pulls alongside me, as I jump out, brushing dust out of my hair at the same time. I tug my shirt away from my back, sighing as a cool breeze eases its way over my skin.

"How much longer till we hit the middle of nowhere?" I mutter.

"What, you mean you're not enjoying this wonderful view?" Ric grins, gesturing at the dead grass that's lined the road for the past 50 miles.

"It'd be far better if I wasn't still trying to work out why Elena is a fucking dead-ringer for Katherine."

Ric sighs. I never explicitly confided in him about what happened. He just guessed. Apparently too many wishful glances from me and a complete lack of communication from her spelt it out for him. He swears he never told Stefan and I believe him. If I didn't, there's a good chance I'd be stood here on my own, with only Mason for company and lining up a few visits of my own to the local dirt-tracks. Ric and Katherine were on friendly terms and on my darkest days I pondered whether if it hadn't been me, it might have been him. I wonder if he thinks the same, if he wishes it had been that way round. I think we both wonder if the outcome would have been different.

"It's not her."

"I know that," I scowl.

"Sister?"

"She never told me about any sister."

"She didn't tell us a lot to be fair."

"We talked," I mutter, stalking towards the gas station, its windows covered in peeling posters.

"And so did we," Ric follows behind. "She never mentioned one."

"I never asked."

"What reason did you have to ask?"

I throw the screen door open and it crashes against the wall loudly. An elderly man glares at us behind the counter. Ric raises a hand in apology, before grabbing my arm.

"Katherine wasn't your girlfriend."

"You don't think I know that?" I scoff, trying to pull free. "I was just her bit on the side until she made up her fucking mind. I think I've just about worked that out, Ric."

"Hey, c'mon Damon, I'm not trying to twist the knife."

"You're doing a good job though."

He lets my arm go and push him back for good measure.

"Maybe Elena has nothing to do with Katherine," he calls after me.

"And maybe she does."

"You seriously think this is some grand revenge plan?"

"I'm all out of other ideas." I scan the back wall for water, desperately trying to ignore the liquor section that's practically crying my name.

"You need to cut down on the booze, man. I'm serious. It's fucking with your head."

"My head is just fine."

"Can you hear yourself, Damon? You're talking about Katherine masterminding some extravagant revenge plot all because of a tragic accident?"

"It wasn't an accident." I grab two bottles and push past Ric back towards the counter.

"Christ Damon, when are you going to stop saying that? It's not helping you or anyone else for that matter."

I tug my wallet out from my back pocket and fish out a couple of crumpled dollars.

"It wasn't an accident," I repeat.

"And Katherine is not a scheming mastermind."

"She blamed me."

"Right, because blame always leads to a freaky coincidence? How stupid of me. Of course, Katherine's sent Elena to fuck with your head. I mean, that's the obvious explanation for you isn't it? Christ."

I head back outside, unscrewing the cap of one bottle to take a long drink. Ric is two steps behind me and I know that what I just said is utterly ridiculous, but I can't help it. Too many lonely nights, even with Rebekah for company. Too many nightmares, too many memories.

"Sorry, man."

"It's fine." I toss both water bottles onto the passenger seat again and turn back to face Ric. "I'm fine."

He narrows his eyes. I can tell he doesn't believe me. I barely believe myself.

"Elena isn't Katherine," he says slowly.

"I know."

He frowns. "Don't fuck with me, Damon."

"Wasn't trying. Got Rebekah for that." I give him a weak smirk.

"Don't change the subject."

"I wasn't."

"It's been six months Damon."

"Thanks for the reminder." I reach onto the dashboard for my cigarettes.

"I'm not talking about Stefan. I'm talking about her."

"I know. What's your point?"

"If you don't move on now, when will you?"

I take a long drag. I'm sick and tired of this conversation. Every pit stop turns into a fucking therapy session these days. Even if Elena hadn't rocked up sporting all things Katherine, Ric would still manage to twist this little exchange into a psychiatrist's wet dream. Neither of us feel better afterwards and we keep going round the endless blame cycle.

"This is bullshit."

"I'm trying to help, Damon."

"I don't need your help."

The same words, the same anger, over and over again. I know what comes next and so does Ric.

Two "fuck yous." Two slammed doors.


End file.
